Kiss of Death
by pgrabia
Summary: Wilson becomes seriously ill at a charity fundraiser and it's up to House and his team to figure out why and how.  Written for Camp Sick!Wilson 2011 at Sick Wilson on LJ. H/W SLASH, est. relationship.  AU.  No real spoilers.  Explicit sexuality, cursing.


**Title: ****Kiss of Death**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

**Characters/Pairing:** J. Wilson, G. House, D. Stewart, Elderly former patient and wife, C. Taub, R. Chase; House/Wilson est. relationship (slash).

**A/N:** This story is written as an entry for the **Camp Sick!Wilson 2011 Sekrit Woid challenge: Week Two Prompt-Allergy. Also includes the use of Week 1 Sekrit Word "Migraine". **Use of _"allergy"_ to follow in another challenge entry.

Betaed by the wonderful **George Stark II **who patiently sifts through my dreck and makes it good enough to read! Any mistakes still remaining, if any, are strictly mine.

**Genre:** AU, sick!Wilson, fluff.

**Spoiler Alert: **No real spoilers at all.

**Word Count:** ~4200

**Rating: NC-17/M (to be safe) **for explicit sexuality, adult subject matter, and coarse language.

**Kiss of Death**

"Okay, I've come, I've seen, and I've conquered," House crowed smugly as he gathered the chips in the pot. "Can I go home now?"

His best friend and partner, Dr. James Wilson, looked across the poker table at him and frowned a little indignantly. It was the annual oncology department's casino fundraiser, held in the lobby of the hospital, the only fundraiser Dr. Gregory House didn't have to be dragged to kicking and screaming. Oh, the Head of Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital put up a token argument about coming, but after being bribed sufficiently—Wilson offered to spend the entire weekend coming up as his sex-slave (which really wasn't much of a sacrifice)—he had agreed. Wilson figured the thing House hated most about formal fundraisers and dinners, aside from having to mingle with 'boring, idiotic, fat-cats,' was that he had to wear a 'monkey suit' with a tie. House hated ties about as much as he did boring, idiotic fat-cats.

"You've only been here an hour," Wilson told him. He and House had been playing Texas Hold-em and the last twenty minutes had been a head-to-head battle between the two of them as the other players, who had lost as many chips as they were willing to at one game, either watched silently or left the table. It had come down to the River card, of course, both of them all-in; House made a straight-flush to the ten over Wilson's three-of-a-kind in aces. Wilson knew he wouldn't hear the end of it for the remainder of the week. "You've won all my chips—you're on a roll, why stop now?"

"I'm bored," was the typical response. Being a genius, House tended to bore quickly. In fact, besides diagnosing patients who couldn't be diagnosed by anyone else, the only thing that didn't bore him was Wilson—even after knowing each other for twenty years. In a way, that made the oncologist feel very special. It was also, sometimes, a burden to bear.

"What? Free booze and food, games galore…and you're bored?"

They were now sitting alone at the table; the dealer had gone for a smoke break and everyone else had moved on. House nodded, leering at Wilson like a hungry wolf sizing up a prize-winning lamb.

"Why don't we go for a walk up to your office, Jimmy?"

A slight flush warmed Wilson's cheeks, more from his own arousal than embarrassment. He wanted to go; he wasn't big on boozing and schmoozing with rich potential donors any more than House was; still, the proceeds from this were allocated to oncology and as the head of that department, Wilson felt obliged to be there.

"I have to stay here," Wilson told him with a small smile and a gleam in his eye. "Unless there's an emergency with one of my patients and I get paged away, I'm here for the long-haul."

House grinned diabolically. "I'm certain one of your patients could have a turn for the worse—"

"House!" Wilson interjected in horror.

"Not literally, idiot!" the diagnostician told his lover, rolling his eyes. "Who do you think I am—Chase?"

"You will not have me paged under false pretences," Wilson insisted, leveling one of his 'looks' on the older man; the 'look' meant that there would be consequences if House crossed the line.

"You're sure cocky, aren't you?" House told him. "Speaking of cock—"

"Shh!" Wilson hissed at him, his eyes looking around to see if anyone had heard House. Nobody appeared to be paying any attention to what they were doing and saying. "Not so loud!"

"If you're not going to give me any then I'm going to at least talk about it," the older man threatened with a smirk, crossing his arm across his chest, "loudly."

The threat had its desired effect on Wilson. It wasn't that they were keeping their relationship a secret; that possibility had passed the first day at work following their first lovemaking session. House had stood on the second floor mezzanine with Wilson, overlooking the hospital's main lobby, and suddenly proclaimed to everyone within a quarter-mile of him that he was screwing Wilson before grabbing the surprised younger doctor and kissing him passionately in front of the audience of colleagues, coworkers, patients, and visitors. They had received some applause, some whistles, catcalls, and a couple of boos, before being dragged off by the Dean of Medicine to her office to face the music. Nor was he ashamed in the least of being in love with House; he simply didn't want their sex life to enter the public domain.

"Okay, fine," Wilson said _sotto voce_, caving, "we'll go to my office—one at a time. I'll go first, then you follow five minutes later. I don't need everybody knowing that we went off together to have sex."

"Yeah," House smirked, "like your little plan is going to work when they notice that we're both gone; but if it makes you feel better, then we'll do it your way. Get going; I'm tenting just thinking about it."

Wilson rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the little smile on his lips as he rose from the table and walked toward the elevator. He was stopped halfway there by an elderly couple, long-time donors to the hospital; ten years prior Wilson had successfully treated the husband's prostate cancer and he had been in remission ever since. It was one of the success stories; there were far too few of them. He had to stop long enough to say hi and chat for a minute or two. Wilson glanced over to where House sat and received an impatient frown from him. After the wife gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, smearing it with bright pink lipstick, Wilson managed to get away and made it into the elevator without anyone further stopping him.

He pulled a spare handkerchief out of his pocket on the ride to the fourth floor and tried to wipe off as much of the pasty goop from his face as he could. Fuchsia was not a good color on him.

He felt like he might be facing a migraine before long and hoped it held off until House had his office sex or Wilson would be facing a pouty, vengeful diagnostician and nobody needed that.

By the time the elevator, empty except for him, reached the second floor, his cheek began to tingle and itch. By the third floor, it was so itchy that it was burning and the itchiness had spread across his entire face, down his neck, and to his chest. He reached a hand up to touch his skin and felt welts covering it. He looked at his hands and they were covered in welts and were starting to swell. He felt dizzy and nauseous and had to lean against the wall of the elevator car to keep himself from tipping over. He was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, and when he tried to swallow he could barely do so.

Shit! Wilson said silently, a panic beginning to rise from his stomach to his chest. He began to list the symptoms in his head; visual disturbances, contact dermatitis, neurological symptoms, glandular swelling, tissue edema, and nausea. They all added up to a severe histamine response to an allergen—and the onset of anaphylaxis; but what allergen? He had very few allergies and those he did have were toward antibiotics. He hadn't taken or even personally been around an antibiotic of any kind for days.

By the time he reached the fourth floor and the elevator doors opened to allow him off, his eyes were swelling and he couldn't breathe at all. He needed help, immediately, but it was the diurnal shift so there was only a minimum necessary number of staff on duty, and since the fourth floor was predominantly offices, most of which were closed up tight for the night, he found himself alone. He stumbled off the elevator, becoming increasingly blind and anoxic. If he didn't get help soon, it would be too late. He turned left, clawing at his swollen neck. He knew that there was an oncology nursing station somewhere down that way, past House's office, the DDx room and his office. If only he could get there in time…

Wilson tripped over his own feet, hit what he figured had to be a wall, and slid down to the floor. Where was House? Surely he was on his way up…?

Faintly, Wilson could hear a voice and then several voices. He couldn't recognize who they came from or what they were saying, but he knew at least someone had found him, hopefully not too late. He surrendered to the darkness.

***H/W***

House waited two minutes from the time Wilson had reached the elevator to follow him. Yes, Wilson had said to wait five minutes, but whether it was five minutes or two minutes, it didn't matter. People would think what they wanted to, and House couldn't have cared less—he never had and never would.

He had to wait for the elevator to return from the fourth floor to the lobby. Whoever the idiot was who designed a hospital to have only one elevator going from the lobby to the higher levels should be shot, House figured, tapping his silver skull cane on the tile impatiently. A phlebotomist carrying her mobile case also waited for the car. She gave House a pleasant smile and friendly nod. She had to be a new hire. He simply stared back at her with cool blue eyes, extinguishing her smile quickly and forcing her to look away.

The ride up to the fourth floor seemed to take forever; House was literally becoming uncomfortable from his arousal, standing awkwardly to hide the fact that he had quite the boner going on. As it was, the newbie was giving him the odd glance, a confused expression in her eyes. When the doors opened on their destination, Newbie stepped off first and turned right. House limped off and turned left—and stopped in his tracks. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before rushing down the corridor as quickly as he could with a crippled leg.

"Wilson!" House dropped to his left knee, wincing as strain was put on his right leg. He ignored the pain and rolled the body of his friend over onto his back. One look at him was all House needed. Checking the ABC—airway, breathing, and circulation (pulse) he knew that they only had minutes before Wilson began to suffer from permanent brain damage. He forced himself up to his feet and hurried down the corridor until he saw the nursing station.

"Hey!" House shouted, getting the attention of the charge nurse and unit clerk behind the desk. "Call a code—I need a crash cart and epi down this corridor stat! I have a man in anaphylactic shock!"

House returned to Wilson's side as the nurse alerted the ER and code team. He fell to his knee again. "Hold on, Jimmy…stay with me. I'm right here—don't you fucking leave me!" he whispered.

The code team arrived with a crash cart and the epi House had demanded. House took the syringe from one of the code team members and injected it into Wilson.

"Have the oxygen and paddles ready," he told the team as they tensely waited to see what effect, if any, the epinephrine injection had on Wilson.

Almost immediately the swelling and edema began to ease, Wilson's radial pulse became detectable and a hiss of air entering and leaving through the limited but present airway could be heard.

Without having to be told to, the team took over and had Wilson on a gurney, a mask and bag over his mouth, his shirt torn open to expose his chest, leads stuck to his skin and a pulse oximeter on his right index finger in less than a minute.

House didn't know how he did it, but somehow he managed to keep up with the gurney as it was rushed toward the internal elevators accessible by medical staff only. They headed down to the main floor and emptied out into a passage that headed directly through a security door into the treatment area of the emergency room; the code team handed off the gurney with Wilson on it and their responsibility for him to the waiting ER team. Wilson was rushed into a treatment room and transferred from the gurney to a treatment bed there. House followed his lover every step of the way, unwilling to allow the oncologist out of his sight for even a second.

The swelling in Wilson's mouth and throat had reduced enough that the ER attending, Dr. Donna Stewart, was able to intubate him and assist his breathing. With that taken care of, she proceeded with the rest of the treatment. House clung to Wilson's hand without being aware that he was doing so. He watched the actions of the ER team like a hawk and began to criticize, try to take over the treatment, and insult the ER staffers. Stewart looked up at him, annoyed.

She turned to the resident working with her. "Take over," she told him simply before turning her attention back to House. She gave a sharp nod in the direction of the exit and then marched out. House caught the cue and for some reason, he wasn't certain why, he followed her, making certain he still had an eye on everything taking place in the room.

"Dr. House." She addressed him politely but the tone of her voice said that she wasn't about to put up with bullshit. "I know your reputation and I'm not anxious to get into a battle of wills with you. I understand that you are concerned for Dr. Wilson's wellbeing, that's why I'm going to allow you to stay in the room with him—under the condition that you stop interfering, criticizing and insulting my staff and myself. It's counterproductive to administering the best care possible to Dr. Wilson, and I know you want the best for him. If you violate those conditions I will have no qualms about calling over those two security guards over there to escort you out of my ER. Are we clear?"

House stared at her, wanting to hate her and respond resentfully, but he couldn't. She was right and he respected the fact that she was willing to stand up to him, yet be reasonable about his need to be there with Wilson. Reluctantly, he nodded once. Stewart mimicked him before turning on her heel and marching back into the treatment room with House close behind. He took up his place next to Wilson again and, though it was difficult, he managed to keep his mouth shut. Once Wilson was stabilized, House followed the gurney taking his partner to ICU.

***H/W***

Wilson slowly opened his eyes and wasn't surprised to find himself in an ICU cubby; for a moment he forgot why he was there, but it returned to him quickly. He swallowed and from the irritation he felt, realized that he had been intubated at one point but the tube had been removed and replaced by a nasal cannula. There was an IV in his right arm and the clip of a pulse oximeter on his left index finger. He looked around the small room and was relieved to see House sitting in a chair near his bed. House watched him quietly with concerned blue eyes. As soon as Wilson had begun moving his head, the older man had left the chair and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"Good morning," House said softly, a slight smile touching his lips. "The chipmunk look really doesn't look good on you. Good thing the swelling is going down."

Able to give him a weak smile, Wilson nodded slightly. "Anaphylactic shock?"

"Yup," House confirmed. "If I hadn't cheated and waited the full five minutes before following you, you would probably be dead. Did you eat or drink anything last night out of the usual for you? Try a new shampoo or laundry detergent, soap, aftershave, or what have you?"

Wilson shook his head. "No. The only thing I thought I was allergic to were sulfa drugs. I have no idea what could have caused the reaction. It started with visual distortions and the onset of a headache, and then immediately after that, contact dermatitis of my face and neck…and my hand."

Nodding, House prodded, "So it was likely something you touched with your hand or your face—which could be anything."

"Yeah…" Wilson paused a moment and then his chocolate brown eyes lit up. "House, what happened to the tux I was wearing last night?"

"It was cut off of you," House answered, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"Find it, especially the handkerchief in the pants pocket," Wilson told him with growing urgency. "Then bring them here and get the epinephrine ready because if I'm right, I'll need it. Last night right before the reaction occurred I was kissed on the cheek by the wife of a patient of mine wearing the gaudiest fuchsia lipstick I've ever seen. I took the handkerchief to wipe it off and got some of it on my hand."

House rose from the bed. "I'm on it." He contacted Taub and told him to find the tux that had been removed from Wilson.

"Chances are it's already out with the rest of the garbage," Taub told him.

"Then go to the dump and find it," House retorted snidely. "Just do it. Take Chase with you."

An hour and a half later, Taub and Chase arrived at Wilson's room wearing gloves and carrying a clear plastic bag with the tux inside. Both of them smelled awful and looked less than impressed with what they had had to do, not that House gave a damn; as far as he was concerned his team should know by now that being a part of working for him meant legwork and unpleasant duties.

"You two reek," House told them, crinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yeah, well you have no idea what all we had to sift through to find these," Taub muttered, frowning. "It better be worth it."

"Why did you want them back?" Chase inquired, looking at Wilson. "They're ruined."

"Stick around and you'll find out," House answered for his partner, moving from the bed to a medicine cart in the corner. He punched in a code and opened a drawer. Pulling out a preloaded syringe of epinephrine, House warned, "Get ready to resuscitate."

Chase and Taub did as told, watching their boss and his boyfriend with curiosity. The bag was handed to Wilson, who pulled the soiled clothing out cautiously and began to search the pants pockets. He pulled the handkerchief in question out using two fingers holding a corner that hadn't been stained with the lipstick. Swallowing hard in an attempt to abate his anxiety, Wilson laid the tainted surface of the handkerchief across his right forearm, dragged it across the skin, and then tossed the handkerchief to the floor along with the rest of the tux. Almost immediately the same halo effect affected his vision, and hives broke out where the handkerchief and made contact. He could feel his throat starting to close again.

"House," Wilson croaked out, near panic and looking to his partner for help, which came immediately. House injected the epinephrine into his IV, which sent it immediately into Wilson's bloodstream. They managed to stave off the anaphylaxis by intervening with the epinephrine followed by an antihistamine as quickly as they did.

"Guess we know what you're allergic to—whatever is in that lipstick, one or more of the components elicits the severe immune response," House told Wilson grimly. He used his cane to pick up the handkerchief and held it out to Chase. "Take this to the lab; find out what's in it."

Chase looked at the cloth with revulsion. He located a small kidney basin and House dropped the offending item into it. He then threw the plastic bag with the remainder of the tux inside at Taub.

"Get rid of that—it stinks. Then take a shower," their boss ordered. "Go."

The ducklings left the room to do as ordered.

Wilson insisted that he was feeling better and wanted to get out of bed, go home, shower and change, and then return to the hospital to work; he had office appointments that afternoon. House put his foot (on his good leg) down and agreed that Wilson should go home to rest and recuperate, but there was no way he was returning to work for a couple of days.

"And naturally," Wilson said, tongue-in-cheek, "if I'm home recuperating then you have to be there with me to make certain I don't have a relapse of any kind and find myself without help. Cuddy will never buy it."

"Never say never," House told him with a sly smile, leaning over Wilson and closing the distance between their mouths. "I know how to handle Cuddy." He kissed Wilson tenderly, caressing his lover's cheek. When their lips parted he added, "Besides, you still owe me a little somethin'-somethin' and I never forgive a debt."

Before Wilson could object, House kissed him again.

***H/W***

House and Wilson had just arrived back at their apartment when Chase called with the results of the gas chromatography tests on the lipstick. Wilson waited impatiently as House had a cryptic conversation with the Australian. When he hung up, House limped past the oncologist without a word of explanation, heading for their bedroom.

"Well?" Wilson demanded as he followed House. "What did Chase find out?"

House began to strip down, getting ready to have a shower. Wilson watched him with interest, but he wasn't about to be distracted by it.

"There was nothing unusual in the lipstick; it contained the same component chemicals found in the top high-end cosmetic brands on the market," House told him matter-of-factly. "He and Thirteen are going to synthesize extracts of the components so they can perform a scratch test on you, but they won't learn what the allergen is."

Wilson frowned, bewildered. "Why not?"

House, standing nude before him and being semi-erect, smiled temptingly and approached Wilson, beginning to undress the younger man as soon as he could get his long-fingered hands on him. Wilson didn't stop him, but intended to get his answer.

"Because it wasn't what was in the lipstick that you're allergic to." House had the shirt Wilson had borrowed to wear home unbuttoned and pulled down past his creamy shoulders. Taking Wilson by said shoulders, he pulled him closer and began to nibble on the spot where Wilson's neck and shoulder met, eliciting an involuntary gasp from the recipient of his ministrations.

"I-It wasn't?" Wilson responded, finding himself succumbing to House's charms.

"Uh-uh. Mmm…Ji-iimmy!"

"Then what was?" Wilson asked, closing his eyes and sliding his hands against House's chest and flanks. He was hardening quickly.

House's hands released Wilson's shoulders and caressed him down his back, pushing the shirt the rest of the way off as they went over his shoulder blades and down toward his hips.

"What…was…in her…saliva. Damn, Jimmy, your ass is so…hard! Hm…what else do you have that's hard?"

"What are you talking about?" Wilson demanded, suddenly pushing House back. "What was in her saliva?"

House sighed, glowering at him. "She had trace amounts of Sulfacetamide in her saliva, which was combined with the lipstick when she kissed you."

Now it was Wilson's turn to frown. "So it was absorbed into my blood through my skin? That sounds far-fetched."

"Nothing is impossible when it comes to you," House retorted, smirking. "If there is any way for you to get sick or hurt, no matter how remote that possibility may be, it will happen to you." House pulled him back into an embrace. "You would never survive without me around to keep you out of trouble."

Wilson looked at his lover in amazement. "Whaa—I would never sur—House! You're the one always getting into trou—!"

House made certain Wilson didn't get a chance to finish his sentence by kissing him hard and swallowing Wilson's words.

_**~fin~**_


End file.
